


The Toolbox

by ALovelyLitwit



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, background forlex kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALovelyLitwit/pseuds/ALovelyLitwit
Summary: Alex tries to return Michael's toolbox. It doesn't go well.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 44
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

Alex sits in the front seat of his car. He’s parked at the junkyard, engine still running. It’s early morning, the sun barely up. He darts his eyes up to his rearview mirror and frowns at the toolbox in his backseat. The toolbox is ordinary - gray metal, covered in various scratches and dents. A completely unremarkable object in every way except one - it belongs to Michael Guerin.

Which is also unremarkable unless you are Alex Manes and Michael Guerin is your ex. 

He returns his stare to the airstream’s door. The Chevy is parked to the left of him, so it’s a safe bet Michael is home. Another fifteen minutes pass and he still hasn’t moved. He glances over his shoulder at the toolbox. A stray sunbeam bounces off the corner, the glare momentarily blinding - like the damn thing is mocking him. 

Sighing, Alex opens his door and slides down to the ground. He pulls the toolbox from his backseat and walks to the trailer’s door. The only sound is the generator running and a couple of enthusiastic songbirds. He knocks and takes a step back. ‘It’s me, Guerin.’

A few minutes go by before Alex hears Michael shuffling around inside. When he finally opens the door, Michael is only half-dressed. Low slung sweatpants and no shirt. Alex is also pretty certain there’s nothing underneath said sweatpants. No matter how many times he’s seen Michael naked, the sight of his bare skin never fails to leave him breathless.

‘Alex? Did I know that you’d be here at ass o’clock in the morning?’

No. He didn’t know. They haven’t talked in ages. Nothing more than the occasional head nod or wave when they see each other around town. And Alex hadn’t called or texted about this meeting because he hadn’t known this would be the morning he found the courage until his alarm had gone off earlier than expected.

‘You didn’t. Sorry. I just wanted to stop by and return your toolbox.’ Michael doesn’t say anything, just blinks at him. Sleep still crusted in the corners of his eyes. ‘I’m...uh...cleaning out my garage. So.’ He holds up the toolbox by it’s rusted handle, but Michael doesn’t move to take it.

Finally, Michael yawns and leans against the door frame. ‘Did I ask for it back?’

The question is unexpected and catches Alex off guard. Which he hates. ‘No. But when you borrow something, it’s polite to give it back.’ Tired of holding the heavy toolbox, Alex sets it down at his feet. Michael just watches him and it makes Alex uneasy. ‘I guess I should go. Thanks for letting me borrow it. And sorry to bother you.’

Walking away, he slows his pace and listens for Michael to call out his name, asking him to stay. For a cup of coffee or just to talk. The reason doesn’t matter. The reason will never matter so long as he asks. But all Alex hears is the sound of the door slamming shut.

Alex pauses. Fights with himself to keep from looking back over his shoulder. Or worse, turning around and begging Michael to be let inside. It was hard being away from him all those years, but it’s much lonelier now being so close. Clenching his fists, he climbs back into his Explorer and pounds his fist against the steering wheel, accidentally sounding the horn. Startled, he looks up at the airstream for any signs Michael noticed. Nothing until his phone vibrates in his pocket.

_Michael: You alright?_

_Alex: Fine. Sorry._

_Michael: Stop saying you’re sorry._

And that’s it. Alex doesn’t know how to respond and Michael doesn’t offer anything further. So he fastens his seatbelt and cranks his engine. With one last look at the toolbox sitting lonely on Michael’s stoop, Alex puts his car in reverse and leaves the junkyard.

The ride home is uneventful. He spends a lot of time cursing himself for being so needy and desperate. Forrest had moved to New York only two weeks ago and already he’s crawling back to the boy who clearly no longer loves him. Alex hates nothing more than being a constant disappointment to himself. 

He spends the rest of the day distracting himself with chores. Mainly, decluttering his garage so that he can begin the long, arduous process of converting the small space into a music studio. The idea has been banging around his head since before he’d even closed on the house. Imagining himself recording his first album in a place that he’d built with his own two hands. With maybe Michael’s two hands helping - another failed dream.

At noon, Alex stops for lunch. Making a couple of sandwiches and settling into his favorite patio chair. It’s not long before he hears the familiar sounds of Michael’s truck growing closer. He shifts in his seat and looks on as Michael parks in the gravel next to his cluttered driveway. Heart rate rising at the first glimpse of his black cowboy hat.

He frowns when he sees what Michael’s carrying.

It’s the toolbox. The one Alex had returned only a few hours ago. The guitar incident quickly replays through his head. Dread pooling in his gut.

Michael strolls through Alex’s patio gate like he owns the place. Tossing his hat on the table in front of Alex and dropping the toolbox at his feet. ‘You forgot this when you left.’

Alex’s lips part while he tries to find something to say. Confusion rendering him mute. The best he comes up with is a raised eyebrow.

Michael sighs. ‘It’s not mine. It’s yours.’ Said like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He shakes his head. ‘I remember you giving me the toolbox, Michael. Last year when I asked for a pipe wrench.’ 

‘Right. And I could have just given you the pipe wrench. But instead, I walked around the junkyard putting this together for you - gathering the tools I didn’t need or had duplicates of. So that you’d be taken care of next time.’ Michael collapses into the chair next to Alex, exasperated.

Alex makes an annoyed noise deep in his throat. ‘How in the holy hell was I supposed to know that?’

Michael throws his hands up. ‘Because we were in a good place!’ He sighs and presses his knuckles into eyes. 

‘Guerin, the only thing you said to me when I picked up that toolbox was let me know if you need help with anything.’ He kicks Michael’s boot softly. ‘Not a single indication you were giving me a gift.’

‘Open your garage door.’ Michael jumps to his feet, startling Alex. He bounces on his heels and tugs Alex out of his chair. ‘Now, Alex. Open the door.’

Growing more annoyed by the minute, Alex does as told despite wanting to strangle Michael. He heads into the house and through the hallway to his garage. Stepping inside and pushing the button to raise the door. Slowly, the chains grind through the opener and sunshine eats away at the shadows. Michael being revealed inch by gradual inch.

Michael looks around at the empty space. ‘Where’d everything go?’

‘The driveway mostly. I’m converting the garage into a studio.’ Alex waves to the piles outside. ‘If you want anything, feel free. It’s mostly junk.’

‘Huh.’ Another indecipherable response. But he marches to a spot in the back corner and points at his feet. ‘The toolbox lives here. There’s even a rusted outline because it’s sat here so long.’ Michael drops the toolbox to the ground with a bang. ‘Which means water is probably seeping up through the concrete foundation. You should definitely have that checked out before starting construction.’

He moves to leave, not sparing Alex another glance until he’s back in the sunlight. Hands on his hips, he spins around and narrows his eyes. ‘Why would you return the toolbox if you were about to start renovating?’

Alex grits his teeth so hard it hurts. ‘Because it’s not mine! Because I’m trying to clean out the garage.’ He closes his eyes and gives up. ‘And my heart.’ He blinks his eyes back open and glares at Michael.

‘Is _he_ here?’ 

‘Forrest?’

‘Yes, Alex. Forrest. I need to know if he’s about to charge out here to kick my ass for yelling at his boyfriend.’ Michael’s eyes shift to the door behind Alex. ‘Well, he can try anyway.’

‘He’s not here.’ He doesn't offer any further information despite the pounding of his heart.

‘Good.’ In just a few strides, Michael is within arm’s length. ‘You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up at my door unannounced. You don’t get to return toolboxes. And goddammit, Alex, you don’t get to return me. That’s not how this fucking works.’ 

Anger flames in Alex’s chest. Before he can stop himself, he storms over to the toolbox, picks it up with a huff, and walks it to his ever growing trash pile, dumping it unceremoniously on top. ‘It’s you who doesn’t get to talk to me like that. Now go home, Michael.’

It’s frustrating. How their story never seems to change. No matter how much both of them want nothing more than to crawl into each other’s arms.

On the way to his truck, Michael stops and gives Alex one last look. ‘You’re right, Alex. You deserve better. You always have. Glad you found it.’ And then he climbs into his truck and disappears. 

Fuming, Alex steps back onto his patio determined to finish his lunch. But everything goes to shit as soon as he spots Michael’s black hat abandoned on the table. He groans and mutters a weak _fuck_ before heading inside in a feeble attempt to ignore everything.

The toolbox and now the hat. And a universe that just won’t let them quit each other.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael returns to retrieve his hat.

Michael’s hat sits on Alex’s patio table for two weeks. He refuses to move it inside even when rain threatens. But it haunts him, taunts him. Keeps him returning to his front window over and over. Peering out to glare at it for a ridiculous amount of time. Each day he waits for Michael to appear and take it away. And each day Michael does no such thing.

Meanwhile, Isobel is across town sitting next to Michael in a booth at the Pony. ‘Just go get your hat, Michael. No need to even talk to him. This is beyond insane.’  


‘He’ll know I’m there. And what if Forrest is there? I can’t risk it - I won’t risk it. That’s why I need your help.’ He gives Isobel his saddest puppy-dog eyes, lip just slightly pouted.

‘No. You and Alex are almost 30 goddamn years old. Go sneak onto his patio like a respectable adult and be done with this madness.’ She takes a sip of her beer and holds her hand up when Michael opens his mouth to speak again. ‘Actually, you know what? I will go. But I’m going to knock on the door and have some words with Captain Manes.’

She starts to slide out from the booth, but Michael wraps his fingers around her arm holding her in place. ‘Absolutely not.’

Isobel plants her hands on her hips and tightens her brows, glaring at him. ‘Either you go or I go. But someone’s going.’ She grabs his keys from his pocket with her mind and then slams them down in his open palm. ‘You have five seconds to decide.’

Michael stands abruptly, pushing her out of the way. ‘If this goes badly, I get to blame you.’ He reaches for his hat, but swipes at empty air before remembering all over again. 

She snickers. ‘If this goes badly, it will be because you didn’t open your mouth and use your words properly. The end.’

He rolls his eyes and leaves, not bothering with a goodbye.

Once Michael’s in his truck, the heavy weight he’s grown accustomed to settles deep into his chest. Everytime he thinks of Alex these days, his lungs fill with lead and he has trouble breathing. When he thinks of Alex, it’s Forrest’s face that he imagines first. Happy, charming Forrest with his wide smile and dopey brown eyes all directed at Alex. 

_His_ Alex. Not his Alex.

Cranking his engine, he pulls on the highway and heads west. Radio off, windows rolled up tight. Tension squeezing at him until he yanks the wheel to the right and settles onto the shoulder of the road. He grabs his phone and opens his Alex Manes text chat.

_Michael: Are you home?_

Several minutes go by before he receives a response. His jittery leg bounces the whole truck while he waits.

_Alex: Yes._

Short and sweet. Michael can practically feel his rage seething off the screen.

_Michael: Did you burn my hat in a sacrificial ritual or can I stop by and pick it up?_

Now is probably not the best time for jokes, but it’s where Michael operates most comfortably so fuck it.

_Alex: You have until sundown. But I make no promises._

Many people might read that as Alex playing along, but Michael knows better. He looks over his shoulder and turns back onto the road. Pressing the accelerator a bit harder than before.

Fifteen minutes later, Alex’s driveway appears. It’s empty now - all the junk gone. The garage is open and it’s a blank canvas ready to be shaped and molded into Alex’s dream studio. Michael cuts his engine and spends a few minutes imagining them building it together. And then his eyes land on the one object left behind.

The toolbox. Right where Michael had tried to leave it. And he wants nothing more than to turn around and go home.

Staring at that toolbox rattles him to his core and he has no idea what to do now. No idea what to say or how to feel. No idea how to open the door and climb out of his truck. He immediately regrets not sending Isobel.

His phone vibrates in his pocket startling him.

_Alex: Hat’s still where you left it. Clock’s ticking, Guerin._

Michael starts to type something snarky - a million ideas racing through his head. But his traitorous fingers have their own mutinous ideas.

_Michael: You kept the toolbox._

_Alex: Knew you’d be back to get your hat. Take the toolbox with you._

_Alex: Please._

It’s the _please_ that really pisses Michael off. He’s up and out of his truck before he even knows what he’s doing. Bypassing the front door, he barrels through the garage, unlocking the door with his mind and slamming it open. Somewhere inside he hears Alex shout what the fuck.

Charging through the hallway, Michael finds Alex in his kitchen. Sitting on his counter, a bowl of pasta in his lap. ‘This is a felony, Guerin.’ But there’s no anger in his voice. 

Now that Alex is in front of him, Michael’s bravado wanes. He’s panting and his fists are clenched, but that’s all the anger that’s left in him. ‘The toolbox is a gift. From me to you.’ It’s not enough words. He knows that and yet falls silent anyway.

Alex takes a bite of his pasta, considering Michael carefully. Chewing slow and relaxed. He swallows and leans his head against the cabinet behind him, setting his bowl aside. ‘Like the guitar. A gift from me to you.’ 

Michael almost hears Alex whisper _checkmate_ in his ear. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘Really? What for?’ He gingerly slides off the counter, landing solidly on his left foot until his knee falters the slightest bit. Michael instantly moves to steady him, but Alex flinches at his touch. ‘I’ve got it.’

‘I’ll just get my hat and leave. Sorry for the intrusion.’ He turns to go and Alex doesn’t stop him.

HIs hat is lying undisturbed on the patio table just as Alex had promised. He swipes it up and pushes back his curls, sliding it down his head with a relieved sigh. Back in his truck, the toolbox won’t let him start the engine. 

He stares at the toolbox so long it stops making sense in his head. Like a word you repeat over and over until it’s nothing but utter nonsense. The rectangular outline grows fuzzy and the gray metal fades into the white wall behind it.

Then suddenly his eyes focus on Alex, hands waving wildly at Michael. He’s saying something, but it’s too muddied by the windshield for Michael to understand. He opens his door and sets one foot on Alex’s driveway. ‘What?’

‘We broke up - me and Forrest. Weeks ago.’ He motions to the garage. ‘The studio project is meant to distract me from my romantic failures. All of them. Which have started to pile up.’

He takes a deep breath. Michael steps completely free from his truck and slams the door shut.

‘You were wrong. I deserve better, Michael. But that better is _you_. Instead, I’ve been dating someone I was largely bored by. And telling myself that’s what I deserved.’ He takes a break to glare at Michael. ‘Then you came here and told me the same thing. That he’s what I deserved.’

Michael looks at Alex, really looks at him for the first time in weeks. His hair is overdue for a cut, his chin riddled with stubble, and dark rings sit heavy under his eyes. He curses himself for not noticing earlier - for assuming Alex would be happier with someone else. ‘We’ve been down this road before, Alex. It has never worked.’ 

Alex shakes his head forcefully. ‘No. We’ve never tried. Not really.’

‘I know. I know that. But what happens when we do try and it doesn’t work? What then?’ That’s it. That’s the fear. The one he’s never wanted to put words to and speak out loud. Not even when he’s alone with his thoughts. The fear that even if they work hard, communicate better, and genuinely love each other, they’ll still crash and burn. ‘I don’t know how to survive that. Do you?’

Alex does not know how to survive that. But he has faith they’ll never have to know. He squares his shoulders and marches up to Michael, snatching the hat off his head. ‘I have no good answers - only that I love you and if you want your hat back you’ll have to come inside to get it.’ And then he’s gone, disappearing behind the slam of his front door.

Michael stands stupefied, staring blankly at the spot where Alex had stood. His eyes land on the toolbox one last time as he replays Alex saying _I love you_ over and over again in his head. Other thoughts start to race through his mind - dangerous thoughts - thoughts that might have the kinds of consequences that would destroy him, _them_. But it’s time to take a risk.

He walks to the toolbox, bending down to pop the lock. Inside, the tools are all orderly arranged and gleaming with cleanliness. Michael rolls his eyes at Alex, but grabs the small mallet half-hidden beneath the top two compartments. He squeezes the handle and looks around the bare garage walls. With a wicked smile, he moves to the outside wall and drives the mallet as hard as he can into the drywall.

Before he can strike the wall again, Alex bangs open the door. ‘What the hell, Guerin?’ Ignoring him, Michael puts another giant hole in the wall. ‘What is your obsession with tearing down buildings?’ Alex grabs his arm to stay his destruction.

‘It felt great to tear down that fucking shed. But this will be better. Because after it’s gone, we’ll get to build something beautiful in its place.’ Emotion sneaks into his voice without his permission and he has to blink tears back when he sees the soft look on Alex’s face.

‘We?’

Michael nods. ‘If you’ll have me.’

Alex answers by chancing a risk of his own, taking the necessary steps to launch himself bodily at Michael. Arms wrapping tight around his neck and lips pressing hot against his mouth, backing him into the half-ruined wall behind them. ‘For real this time, Michael. No running, no pushing, no silence, no metaphors.’

‘No running.’ He shifts them around so that he has Alex caged in against the wall. ‘No pushing.’ He slides his hands up Alex’s t-shirt, exploring his warm skin. ‘No silence.’ His hands push higher, thumbing over Alex’s nipples. Mouth pressing kisses up his neck. ‘No metaphors.’ Michael leans back to look Alex in the eye. ‘I love you.’

Alex returns the sentiment and they do what lovers do after a long absence. Nosy neighbors be damned. The toolbox sits quietly watching, Michael’s hat tossed haphazardly on top.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Cross-posted to @litwitlady on Tumblr


End file.
